An Anthology of Dead thoughts: She is my reason

An Anthology of dead thoughts.

 November. It’s dark. It prevents activity. I crave activity, my physical world is slowly drawing in on me, and I resent it. At least the sun allows me to be in the air, let the world turn around me, and so it comes day by day, whatever it may be. Night follows night, follows morphine fog follows medicated numb barbs thrashing for supremacy in my body and I cannot fight it.

 I come to solace with difficulty, though if I whisper quietly, I still hear my own white whale…and I like it…

 Any day is the same of late, I wake, I eat, I think and I lose a little of what I was and surely don’t mourn demise, I wasn’t the human you’d embrace or love, or one you could shrug away, a silent melancholy surrounded me, unperceivable to most, but I carried its weight inside me. Its great jaws ever waiting…I must be wary, keep up my guard. I don’t like what I am when I am myself.

 It was the middle of winter when I cracked, it happened, my life at the time resembling my surroundings, rustic timbre of mechanical humdrum, the vulcanised rubber bristling through the depth of fluid on the cracked grit. Sky cracked and alive, motion and mountains of cloud, pregnant with their load, waiting the call from the maker, the gravity of earth, two objects of mass irresistibly drawn to each other and in my head, I soaked it up, an addition for the additives, a maelstrom of welling grief, I motioned to myself to take this moment, lock it down,  be a victim and savour the moment, then move…

 Herein lays the problem. A human moves and evolves, never stopping and restarting anew. Even when the intention is to change, it’s always a rehash, taking what was, cooking at 190degrees, sieving out the mental broth and throwing across the kitchen. This isn’t change, this is a recipe, and this is formulaic. This is taking what you have and remoulding, not really changing, the most banal expression of change.

 People move, because they transplant their idea, their want into a fresh surrounding, they imagine their life becoming changed, because their surroundings have changed. This cannot be true. You’re surrounding, the a priori of your life, is not you. You are in control, you determine your surroundings, and you control what you allow into your life.

 Yet, before I go, I wanted to walk down to the sea. I was blessed in this case, my proximity to it. On quiet days, you strain your neck, proffer an ear to the blank air and hope you can hear the wave’s crash. Other times, you advance towards it, when suddenly you’re met by a cacophony of noise, the salty water fighting amongst itself. This pleases me the most. As I let gravity pull me down the hill, not making so much effort in my steps as just allowing myself to be carried, I steal the sight of its waters, and steadily, without hesitation, im there.

 Summer was coughing and spluttering, the slow death into the brown hues of autumnal calm, the tides swelled and furrowed deeper each day, the deep blue becoming grey and green and all manners of strength as I look out.

 My place of strength was there, by that sea. I draw a power from its timeless menace, everlasting, unchanging. The sea need not to move, the earth moves around it. So its here I sit, I don’t think, I don’t reflect, I just let it fill me. I could scream at the ocean, it would laugh right back at me. I mean not a moment, not the most meagre portion. It’s this comparison I revel in the most, what could I truly do, in the expanse of it, all that truly matters, when faced with the blue charge. This lesson I know now, but not then.

 I watch the people amble by, coursing through the concrete, grasping their cheap purchase of buckets and spades, their momentary pleasure, something to write home about, something to tell the kids. It seems to me like they’re missing the bigger picture, but I do tend do geta little self righteous…so all are oblivious to the real lesson that is here to be taught in my mind. They're all wildlife, and not in a literal sense. They're cattle for a greater machine oblivious to a world there for their taking, a world for each person, you create your own path, you choose what comes in and out, whats in is uncontrollable, but you have the choice to bring it in to your world, so you have that choice to bring it out. 

Everything happens for a reason. I have many reasons. She is one. She is the ocean. She is endless.